


Someone to Lean On

by TinyOctopus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt/ Comfort, Explicit Language, Golden Age of Overwatch, M/M, Off-Screen Hurt and On-Screen Comfort, POV Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, POV Third Person Limited, Pillows & Blanket Forts, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-27 11:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16701547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyOctopus/pseuds/TinyOctopus
Summary: A patchwork of shadows yawned up the wall beside him, streaked through with thin bars of late evening sunlight, fainter now than when his squad had touched down. Gabriel studied the terrain with a careful eye, taking in the hazardous spread of cushions, quilts, and — if the familiar herringbone fabric indicated anything — their duvet swallowing up the floor. The holoscreen, the sole source of illumination in the room, defined the impressive bulk of pillows and blankets in flickering shades of blue.Gabriel would have to be careful crossing the room unless he wanted to break his nose… again.After a long mission, the sight on the living room floor was the last thing Gabriel Reyes expected. Still, he didn't mind it at all.





	Someone to Lean On

**Author's Note:**

> I was informed by several people that I needed to stop torturing my characters, so I _magnanimously_ decided to give them a break. Well, I tried, anyway, and isn't that what counts? 
> 
> So, here, have a small exploration into the private, personal lives of the commanders of Overwatch and Blackwatch as they stumble through life and try their best to support each other before everything crashes and burns around them.

Gabriel paused in front of the door, not hesitating, no, merely taking a moment to savor the feeling of _finally_ returning home. Even if the journey hadn't taken ten years, it had still felt like a motherfucking odyssey all the same. In hindsight, considering the size of the post-op paperwork, maybe it _would_ have been easier if he'd just sailed his way back. 

The extra time and distance would have only delayed the inevitable, but fuck, if it wouldn't have helped. Sure, at some point, he would have to sit down and detail how Blackwatch had gotten fucked over six ways to Sunday, but that was a fuzzy, uncertain point in time. He could put it off indefinitely, just to stay in this moment for a little while longer. 

Gabriel scrubbed a hand across his face. The report could wait until morning. Right now, all he wanted was to eat, shower, and get some well-earned sleep. Oh, and involve Jack in as much of this plan as possible.

As soon as Gabriel reached for the handle, his earpiece crackled to life. He silenced the comm with a satisfying grind of his finger, cutting off the speaker mid-word. Overwatch, Blackwatch, and the rest of the motherfucking planet could handle themselves until morning. If not, they shouldn't have worked so damn hard to save the world in the first place. They had earned an evening or three to themselves by this point. 

Gabriel set his hand on the door handle and waited. As per fucking usual, the DNA lock took its damn sweet time to disengage, impervious to both his scowl and his silent encouragement to hurry the fuck up — or else. When it _finally_ clicked open, Gabriel hurried inside. The unexpected — but not unwelcome — change to their living room made him pause in the entrance. 

Gabriel stared, transfixed, until the door attempted to close through him for the absolutely last fucking time. Despite two of the most important men on the entire goddamn planet filing multiple requests, maintenance orders still occurred on a schedule known only to God himself. If Gabriel had to live with a broken sensor on his door for one more day, he was going to burn the entire Overwatch Headquarters down to cinder and ash. 

But first… Gabriel rubbed away the dull pain radiating out from his shoulder. His gaze swept from one end of the room to the other. The furnishings failed to explain what had transpired in his absence — besides the obvious, of course.

A patchwork of shadows yawned up the wall beside him, streaked through with thin bars of late evening sunlight, fainter now than when his squad had touched down. Gabriel studied the terrain with a careful eye, taking in the hazardous spread of cushions, quilts, and — if the familiar herringbone fabric indicated anything — their duvet swallowing up the floor. The holoscreen, the sole source of illumination in the room, defined the impressive bulk of pillows and blankets in flickering shades of blue. 

Gabriel would have to be careful crossing the room unless he wanted to break his nose… again.

Path decided, Gabriel deftly navigated along the outskirts of the makeshift structure until he reached the low table shoved back against the couch. He set down the bags of takeout, fingertips tingling as the circulation returned. Then, he turned around. Despite the loud rustle of paper, plastic, and cardboard, the pillow-and-blanket fort motionless, the game on the screen continuing without interruption.

Interesting.

Jack was completing this section faster and — if he had to be honest — _better_ than him. Yeah, well, it still didn't mean the blond would be able to find all the collectibles on his own. Gabriel and his patient ability to find guides on the internet still had a purpose in Jack's life. Oh sure, they both knew it was just a flimsy excuse to spend what little time they had together, but lazy Sunday mornings and bi-weekly date nights had ended over a decade ago. 

They never had enough time these days, but someday, they would retire to a quiet plot of land in the middle of bumfuck Indiana, the rest of the world a distant worry. They'd have a house with enough room for a garden and those expensive-as-hell goats Jack had told him about while they were puking up their guts into a shitty toilet in a shitty government facility that didn't — and still doesn't — exist. Oh, and alpacas, too. Gabriel had made up his mind at the age of five, and no, Morrison, he didn't fucking care if they were temperamental assholes. Alpacas were as cute as fuck and he wanted them, so there.

Gabriel crouched down and studied the outermost layers of the fortifications. He skimmed a finger across the hem of a colorful quilted blanket to test the stability. After locating a suitable breach point, he crawled inside, bracing himself for retaliation.

It never came.

In the muted darkness, Gabriel found Jack hunched low over a controller, hyper-focused on the game playing across the holoscreen. Beneath the hood drawn tight over his head, tufts of blond hair poked out at odd angles. The glow of the holoscreen highlighted the dark circles under his eyes, the lines creasing his forehead, and the pale, translucent quality his freckled skin gained after too little time in the sun. This close, Gabriel recognized the sweatshirt stretched tight across Jack's shoulders, and while he was positive he'd thrown it into the laundry basket _before_ leaving for Baotou, he understood the desperate need to shrink the cold, terrifying expanse of a half-empty bed.

Without hesitation, Gabriel curled himself around Jack and tucked the blankets firmly around them both, ignoring the sweat already beading across his brow from their trapped body heat. Jack stiffened when Gabriel shifted him into his lap, and then, he leaned back, falling boneless and slack within the familiar circle of Gabriel's arms.

Taking his cue, Gabriel pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw. His first attempt caught the drawstring of Jack's hood between his lips, and with quiet huff of laughter, Gabriel tried again. His second attempt yielded the taste of warm, stubbled skin, and Gabriel couldn't resist a third or fourth or fifth kiss, greedy and self-indulgent after being denied for so long. Jack, it seemed, felt the same way. When he was finally satisfied, Gabriel pulled away and leaned his chin over Jack's shoulder so he could watch.

Jack continued to play the game, his heartbeat steady and even in a stark contrast to the action flashing across the screen. Gabriel tried to pay attention, but he found it difficult to focus on anything other than the warmth seeping into his body wherever they touched. While he couldn't remember precisely when his eyes had drifted closed, Gabriel allowed the soft, plastic clicks of the controller and the overwhelming scent of home to lull him into a fuzzy, grey-edged peace.

Here and now, cloistered away from the rest of the world, nothing else mattered. Time slid sideways, immaterial and inconsequential.

Gabriel blinked when cool fingers tickled across his scalp and opened his eyes to a save screen, the timestamp of Jack's file significantly higher than before Gabriel had left. Too high, in fact. Before he could ask Jack how many twenty-four hour periods he had spent mind-numbingly distracting himself from whatever the fuck had happened, Jack pressed chapped, worried lips against his own. _Fucking cheater._ Jack tasted of tobacco, burnt coffee, and sleepless nights, but his mouth was warm and wet and perfect.

"Welcome home," Jack said when they parted, his voice roughened and hoarse as if he hadn't spoken aloud in a while.

"I missed you." Gabriel knocked their foreheads together, noses touching. "When'd you last eat, hmm?"

"Can't remember."

"Uh-huh." Gabriel clicked his tongue against his teeth. "I'm sure you don't know when you last slept either." He pulled back to better study Jack. "It's becoming a pattern, Jackie, and I'm starting to—" Gabriel cut himself off when Jack buried his face into the crook of Gabriel's neck.

Fuck.

That bad, huh?

Gabriel held himself perfectly, absolutely still. His hands hovered mid-air, uncertain where to hold Jack oh-so the fragile, oh-so fucking breakable moment remained intact. He lowered his hands to his sides, utterly and profoundly useless.

Gabriel should have turned on a news feed, checked the obituaries, or paid more fucking attention once he arrived back on base because _of course_ something had gone wrong while he was away. It was a reminder for the next time if nothing else because there would _always_ be a next time. 

Gabriel wrapped his arms around Jack's shoulders, careful and slow so as not to startle the other man. All he could do now was hold Jack close. At least, after so many years of practice, he couldn't fuck _that_ up. 

"I had a rough week," Jack murmured into his clavicle, voice hitching on the last syllable.

Ladies and gentlemen, they had a contender for the motherfucking understatement of the year. The lie rang hollow in the small, muted space between them. Gabriel stared at the fraying seam of Jack's favorite pillowcase, tracing the dangling thread from where it had pulled free of the fabric until he found the right words. Fuck, he had never been good at this kind of thing. Jack always knew precisely what to say to make things right, how to smile and charm the brass, but right here, right now, Gabriel was on his own. 

"I'm here, Jack, and I always will be. I promised you that a long time ago, and I'm not gonna break it now." Gabriel hoped — for once — he had said what Jack needed to hear.

Jack didn't answer. He didn't respond, remaining still and unresponsive, as if he hadn't heard Gabriel speak.

Apprehension wormed its way into Gabriel's stomach. The silence stretched between them. The dark, enclosed space grew claustrophobic, all the air sucked out. Gabriel trembled with the effort to restrain himself before he made yet another mistake. Right now, more than anything else in the whole fucking world, Jack needed him. 

Seconds before Gabriel acted on the desire to fuck everything up and tear open the cocoon of pillows and blankets, Jack cleared his throat. "Thanks, Gabe," he murmured, his words barely audible over the distant noise from the holoscreen.

Air rushed from Gabriel's lungs with a forceful exhale, the sudden relief knocking through him like a physical blow. He squeezed Jack tight, the distance between them nonexistent.

"C'mon, Jackie, let's get some food into you." Jack nodded his head in agreement but then he paused, frowning at the pillows and blankets around them. Gabriel followed his gaze. Ah, _now_ he saw the problem. With a soft, thoughtful hum, Gabriel began to puzzle out how to shift them without destroying Jack's handiwork.

Just as Gabriel settled on a plan that would _probably_ work, however, Jack's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Can we eat in here?" he asked, the question so tremulous, so fragile and raw, there was only one possible answer.

"Of course, Jackie. Whatever you need."

"You don't mind?" Despite the unruly blond curls obscuring his view, Gabriel could _see_ the uncertainty on Jack's face: the narrowed blue eyes, the downward twist of his mouth, the pinched skin between his brows.

On some level, yes, Gabriel _did_ mind the added mess — even as a hypothetical, distant possibility — considering how Jack had seemingly emptied the linen closet, stripped the bed, and scavenged their entire living quarters for his construction materials. It was going to make such a fucking mess, but none of that mattered.

"The worst thing that'll happen is more laundry," Gabriel reassured him, rubbing circles into the small of his back. "That's all."

"Okay," Jack mumbled, and Gabriel let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

Between the two of them, they coordinated how to slip the takeout bags into the fort without causing any lasting structural damage. Once they resettled back inside the warm, half-darkness, they divided the food between them without a word, bumping elbows and knees as they passed the containers back and forth. The only problem happened when Gabriel realized he'd gotten an odd number of spring rolls. After a moment of silently shoving the spring roll back and forth in the container, they reached a compromise and messily split it between them using their chopsticks.

Jack snorted when a sliver of bamboo fell onto his lap, no doubt incensed by the mix of horror and disgust etched onto Gabriel's face at the splatter of sauce. When Jack began to laugh outright, almost choking on a mouthful of rice in the process, Gabriel couldn't help but join him, caught up in the sheer absurdity of the moment. Still, he double-checked to make sure that no, Jack wasn't _actually_ in danger of choking.

"Wouldn't _that_ be a headline," Gabriel said once they had both calmed down. "'Strike Commander of Overwatch struck dead by Chinese takeout. Who will the mysterious assassin target next?'" 

"You've had worse," Jack pointed out, a lopsided grin cracking across his face.

Gabriel began to protest, thought about what he could say in his defense, and then shoveled the last bite of rice into his mouth. Yeah, he'd inspired headlines scandalous enough to cause an international incident or four, so he had no grounds to argue. 

Jack still looked like death warmed over, but now there was a flush to his cheeks and the harsh lines framing his eyes seemed softer. In that moment, Gabriel wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss him right then and there just to see if he could erase the last of Jack's tension away, but Jack, unfortunately, had enough presence of mind to fend him off until he could clear away their empty plates and food containers. Even in the midst of an emotional breakdown, Jack was still the responsible one. If Gabriel didn't love him so much — if Gabriel didn't know how much it helped to have a modicum of order when the rest of the world spiraled out of control — it would be disgusting. Jack banished the takeout bags outside their fort with a rustle of paper, plastic, and cardboard.

Rather than settle back into Gabriel's arms like before, he reversed their positions. Gabriel leaned back against the pillows with a soft sound and let himself be held. Between one slow breath and the next, he lost track of anything beyond the steady rhythm of Jack's heartbeat. His eyes slid closed.

"We could stay here forever," Jack murmured. Gabriel shivered as warm breath tickled over the sensitive skin of his nape.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "Though—" Gabriel opened his eyes at the frown in the blond's voice. "—you stink." 

Gabriel snorted, anxiety melting into the warm, humid air. His eyes drifted shut once more, and with an unintelligible sound, Gabriel turned around to pillow his head against Jack's shoulder. His head bumped against the decorative sham forming the bulk of their ceiling. "Like you smell any better."

"I suppose," Jack said, after some thought, "we could both use a shower." Gabriel could hear the gears turning in his head. Maybe it was just the holoscreen humming along in the background.

Or both.

Probably both.

"Y'think?" Rolling his eyes took too much effort. The mere thought of it, in fact, was _exhausting_. Yet somehow, with the sort of herculean effort deserving of a motherfucking medal, Gabriel mustered enough energy to lift his hand and poke at Jack's side for emphasis. Of course, the blond idiot used the opportunity to lace their fingers together like a fucking sap. Gabriel found himself as a loss. How was he supposed to punctuate his sentences now?

"Later," Jack clarified. "We can shower later, Gabe. If you want, we could even go and—"

Since Jack was somehow willing and able to keep talking, Gabriel leaned up to kiss him. It took a few attempts to get it right. His lips dragged against Jack's forehead, over an arched brow, and rasped against a stubbled cheek before they found their intended mark. Besides, he was aiming with his eyes closed and Jack was of absolutely no fucking help either. Gabriel withheld this observation in case the warm, distracting fingers combing through his hair stopped their gentle massage.

"Later," Gabriel emphasized, "we can do whatever you want. Right now, _I_ wanna sleep. No point in moving either since our bed's mostly here."

At least, that's what he tried to say.

Thankfully, Jack seemed to get the gist. Of course, he'd had over a decade and a half of deciphering the slurred, "no, 'm naw drunk, Morrison, jus' tired, so shaddup" English Gabriel devolved into whenever he was too tired to give a damn.

"You know, you never did ask."

Gabriel inhaled a breath through his nose and exhaled it longer and slower, giving himself the time to piece together the meaning behind Jack's sentence. "About?"

"The living room." 

"Don't need to ask," Gabriel said. "Just need to listen 'n help if I can."

With that, all of the quivering, pent-up tension in Jack's body relaxed.

"Hey Gabe?" 

"Mm-hmm?"

"Speaking of help, is your offer to shoot the Sec-Gen still valid?" At Jack's question, Gabriel blinked hard, willing himself awake and alert. He only managed to get halfway there, but it was enough that he would remember this conversation in the morning. Hopefully.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Well, duya want me to do it?"

"Yes." A pause. "No, no." Jack sighed. "I just… I thought you should know, it helped a lot. Before, I mean." Gabriel waited for him to elaborate. Jack took all the time he needed to gather his thoughts before he spoke. "I was standing in the elevator after the conference call, and then out of the blue, I remembered your offer. I laughed so hard, I worried Athena." A thread of panic entered his voice, and Gabriel squeezed his hand. Jack returned the gesture, applying enough force that Gabriel's joints creaked. "It would be a terrible idea, of course, even if you _could_ do it without getting caught."

Gabriel grunted.

"Sorry," Jack corrected. "I mean, it would be a terrible idea. Overwatch must uphold the highest of moral and ethical standards and we must resort to violent retaliation only as the absolute last resort." There was his Strike Commander voice, practiced and polished to a mirror-slick shine. 

Sometime later — when it was safe — Gabriel would find a way to point out how often Jack slipped into that leadership role even when he wasn't wearing his hideous blue duster. While Gabriel understood how fucking difficult it was to compartmentalize when your job concerned literally everyone in the entire fucking world, he wanted to share a bed with _Jack,_ not the Strike Commander of Overwatch. "Besides," Jack added as an afterthought, "you're too good to ever get caught assassinating anyone, Gabe."

"Damn straight."

Jack laughed. Warmth settled in Gabriel's chest and fuck, he'd _missed_ that sound. Jack didn't laugh enough these days, and Gabriel resolved to fix it. "Neither of us has ever been straight."

"Yeah, well." Gabriel was too close to drifting off again to come up with a good response. "Go to sleep, Jack, before I shack it up with that hot new chick in Accounting."

"I'm pretty sure that doesn't change my point, Gabe."

"'M gonna shove the ceiling in your mouth if you don't go to sleep," Gabriel grumbled, his voice too soft and fond for the threat to be anything serious. He groped above his head for the decorative sham, then gave up when his arm refused to cooperate. Instead, he tucked his arm around Jack's waist, right where it belonged.

"You know, in any other situation, that statement would make zero sense."

Gabriel groaned and thumped his head against Jack's shoulder in wordless protest.

"Fine, fine." Gabriel could _hear_ the smile in his voice. Jack leaned back and squirmed until he made himself comfortable. Of course, he was oblivious to how his elbow dug into Gabriel's side until he was poked and poked and poked a third time before he _finally_ got the message. "You know," Jack said, "I was joking earlier. Please don't shoot the Sec-Gen."

Another lie, but Gabriel let it pass. Right here, right now, Jack needed him. Killing the Secretary-General of the United Nations involved leaving their blanket-and-pillow fort — and more importantly, Jack. Tomorrow, he'd consider it, just to prevent whatever the fuck had happened from ever happening again, just in case it distracted Jack long enough so he could remember how to _really_ smile again. And if Jack actually, truly wanted him to do it? Well, he'd need time make sure he did it right. After all, he had a reputation to uphold and a promise to keep.

Gabriel had only been half-joking, even when he made his offer the first time, all those years ago. A well-placed bullet solved many, many problems where traditional diplomacy failed, and whatever Jack could plausibly deny and publically disavow wouldn't hurt either him or Overwatch. In the end, that's what mattered the most, and Gabriel would make sure it stayed that way. 

But until then — and maybe even after — the pillow-and-blanket fort could stay.

**Author's Note:**

> There you have it, folks. I _tried_ to write fluff. Do I get my cookie now?
> 
> In all honesty, this is probably about as close to writing fluff as I'll ever get when it comes to these two. I really wanted to explore one take on Gabriel's perspective — the how and why Gabriel might do some of the 'questionable actions' Jack would eventually defend to his and Overwatch's own detriment. Plus, y'know, I wanted to see what them supporting each other _outside of their jobs_ would look like. 
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear what you liked and if anything didn't work for you! ♡


End file.
